Poem by John Sheirer

Post navigation

As the blustering helicopter passes noisily above the pasture fields, four previously
indifferent cows, unknowing and afraid, run to shelter beneath the shady maple trees. They
hide there, panting but quiet in the artificial wind. Their sixteen black hooves push heavily
into the surface of this modern world. Standing close, each one searches out the others’
eyes. As the air grows calm, their breathing slows. They bow their heads and begin to sing.

John Sheirerlives in Northampton, Massachusetts, with his wonderful wife Betsy and happy dog Libby. He has taught writing and communications for 26 years at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut, where he also serves as editor and faculty advisor for Freshwater Literary Journal (submissions welcome). He writes a monthly column on current events for his hometown newspaper, the Daily Hampshire Gazette, and his books include memoir, fiction, poetry, essays, political satire, and photography.

Joe Linker’s first camera was a used East German made SLR 35mm Exakta 500 fitted with a 120mm portrait lens he used to take ocean surfing slides in South Santa Monica Bay. That was 1968. Now he uses his cell phone, for when the ordinary pops.